You Never Knew
by Porcelain Owl
Summary: "Couldn't she feel him? It just then dawned on Moritz that Ilse could never hear him, see him, or feel him again – he was dead, gone, a spirit alone in the cold German wind." Moritz was always there. They just never listened.
1. A Spirit Alone

**Author's Note: I do not own any characters from **_**Spring Awakening**_** or **_**Spring Awakening**_** itself. Also, I would like to apologize for the very short length of this first chapter. I've spent several months thinking up this plot and I've made quite a few attempts writing this. I hope you enjoy. Please feel free to leave me a review and let me know what you think! Thanks, Clockwork Doppelganger.**

It was like a nightmare when he fell from the dark sky on that cold spring night. He had struck the earth rather brutally after spending seconds in a bright white place. That place had been colorless and as hot as the sun, or so he thought, since he had never been to the sun. It was if he was the only thing there, but it was rather peculiar when he could not feel or see when he would bring his cool hands together. So was he ever there or not? Or was it just a state of mind? Those were two good questions they should've answered in the Bible.

Moritz Stiefel slowly raised from the wet grassy area in which he landed, brushing off dirt. It was far too early for dew to frost the little green blades, wasn't it? The boy bent over and skimmed his hand over the area, his fingers becoming sticky. He swallowed hard, for it was his own blood. Not only was it his blood, it trailed to his dead corpse. There he lay curled in a ball on his side, eyes unseeing, bloody mouth gaped open, a pistol still gripped in his hand. Moritz remembered those terrible seconds that seemed like hours as he choked on his blood.

His body was not alone, however. Dear Ilse hovered over his body, shaking horrifically. Suddenly, she gazed down at her feet, now covered in scarlet, to find the bouquet she had dropped when she stormed off, Mortiz screaming after her. She should have answered to his calls, but she didn't, and she had regretted it. It was almost as if she was an angel of death, offering Mortiz one last chance, now that she looked back at it. How could she have been so stupid? How could she have been so blind?

Ilse dropped to her knees and swiftly turned as to miss Mortiz. She roughly vomited in her state of shock as tears steadily dripped down her pale face. Wiping her mouth, but never lowering her hands from her face, she faced Moritz's corpse. The young girl began to emotionally break down again, wailing. So much pain was ripping through her body, yet she felt hollow. Ilse examined the beautiful face of the boy that she had secretly loved. Why had she left him? It felt like she was going to die, like this was the end of happiness in the world. Like the sweet flowers would no longer bloom in the spring, that spring would never come. Germany would be forever in the cold, harsh winter.

Moritz quickly moved to the girl, rushing to aid her. He wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, attempting to comfort this poor Ilse. She might've ignored his cries for help, but she didn't deserve to find his dead corpse. Not her, not _Ilse. _The boy remembered the time they had played pirates with Wendla Bergman and Melchior . . . _Melchior! _How would his dear friend feel when he heard the news? Why hadn't he thought about his actions? "I'm right here, Ilse," he whispered in her ear, his voice cracking. "It's going to be okay. I'll always be here, Ilse . . . I will _never leave you." _

His heart broke when the girl didn't respond, didn't even act as if she had heard his comforting words. Couldn't she hear him? Couldn't she see him? Couldn't she _feel _him? It just then dawned on Moritz that Ilse could never hear him, see him, or feel him again – he was _dead_, gone, _a spirit alone in the cold German wind. _He shuddered at the truth. Would he go on like this for eternity? Moritz swallowed hard.

"_Somebody help!" _Ilse managed to screech at the top of her lungs, choking on her tears. She continued to sob mournful, salty tears. Moritz wanted to wipe them away and tell her that it will be okay, but she would never know. "_Anyone! Please! Please help! PLEASE!" _She screamed as loud as she could, flailing her arms this way and that, desperate for a _living _human being.

Someone appeared in the clearing, a boy just about Moritz's age. _Melchi. _He stood there with his eyes wide and his manly jaw dropped. His face turned pale white as he saw his best friend's corpse. It felt as if someone had sucked everything happy from the world- that he would never smile again. Melchior knew that Moritz was very troubled, but he never expected that he was to the point of suicide. He remembered all of the times he had stuck up for him in school or listened to his woes. Now he was gone. They would never have fun together again.

Blackness surrounded Moritz.


	2. Left Behind

**Author's Note: I apologize for the delay of the arrival of chapter two. Unfortunately or fortunately, I have to go to school and do homework. **

_The golden sun gave the rippling water a little sparkle in the summer afternoon. Moritz watched as the small waves splashed salty water onto the bottom of his ship and the soft wind breezed through his brown curls, gently tousling them. All Moritz could hear was the _splish splosh_ of the Caribbean waters and the creaking of the ship, which was beginning to age. Everything seemed okay when he was sailing along, like all of his troubles had gone away. However, when it was over for the day, everything came back. His father was the water. It seemed to crash, disappearing afterwards into a meaningless jumble of sand, salt, and foam. But, nature always had its way, bringing the water back in a new wave. _

_Off in the distance, Moritz spotted another ship exactly alike, tall and looming. It slowly crept closer and closer, a suspicious sign. He recognized the ship to be one he knew very well, for only one other crew had a similar structure. Two young girls were aboard the threatening ship, both very dangerous. But were they dangerous enough for the great Melchior and Moritz? It was unavoidable that the two would soon find out. _

_The vast blue withered away to gold hay and darkness, little stars twinkling in the night sky. Moritz gazed down to find himself atop a big bale of hay, no longer sailing the marvelous seas. It was only Ilse's _yard_, only a bale of _hay_. Beneath him were the cold ground and the worried faces of his beloved friends who were not actually pirates, just merely German children with wild imaginations and unrealistic dreams. This was not an extravagant voyage. The only treasure that could ever be found was the face of sweet Ilse, with her long, flowing hair and modest smile. Moritz climbed down from the bale and his booted feet met the dry grass. _

_Melchior gathered his book, which lay open on the ground, and was soon at Moritz's side. "Come on, Moritz," he began. "It's become very late. I will walk you home." _

The boys eyes abruptly flew open and he felt a pang in his chest, an aching for the past he could no longer have. Not that Moritz could have anything anymore, as he was basically gone, otherwise known as the state of being dead. Regret flooded through him.

It was a very downcast day, the sky grey and gloomy. Little droplets of rain dampened the soil, making it slightly muddy. Moritz stood from ground in the clearing, where there was nothing but the grass still stained with his blood and himself. He felt extremely groggy, as if he'd been sleeping for days, which could have been possible for all he knew. Loneliness swept upon him and he felt his eyes sting, his nose burn. _I will not cry, _Moritz sternly thought. All he wanted was Melchi's warm, brotherly embrace and the smell of Melchi to sweetly fill his nostrils; comfort.

Moritz wandered through the path in the forest, trying to leave everything behind him. It was all left behind, anyway. Melchior, Ilse, Wendla, Georg, Otto, Hanschen, Ernst, and Frau . . . Moritz quickly shook the thought away as he continued to mindlessly almost float the beaten path to find him in the little village in which he and his classmates had lived. He heard the bells of the small church _clang _repeatedly, as if there was some sort of funeral being held. Who died?

The little house in which he had resided his whole life stood before him. It was rather small and light blue, beautiful flowers and other plants lining the front. This was home, and a fool of a home it was. Yet, he was yearning for it now, for peculiar reasons he could not understand. Was his father home? Moritz peeked into the window of his father's study, where he spent most of his days, to find an empty chair. No one was home.

_The bells of the small church _clang _repeatedly, as if there was some sort of funeral being held. Who died?_

_The bells of the small church _clang _repeatedly, as if there was some sort of funeral being held. Who died?_

_Funeral. Church. Died. _

Moritz sprinted down the cobblestone of the village for the small church in which they attended services every Sunday. How could he had been so stupid as to not even suspect that the funeral service was for him? _Just think, Moritz, everyone will be there! Even if they can't see you, you get to see them for one last time, _he mentally exclaimed to himself. The thought of seeing Melchior and his friends overjoyed him. Of all things that could make him feel better, they would be the ones. If he can't live and make new memories, then why not embrace the old ones, no matter how much pain, grief, and desire they caused you? It's not like you're going to have anymore.

A coffin laid before him, his father leaning over and fidgeting about with care. Moritz daringly peeked inside to see what his father was doing to his body, breaking his heart. He watched as Herr folded the corpse's average hands and then began to smooth the tie like he always made Moritz do. Gently, he lifted his son's chin and finally, closed the boy's eyes. A tear trickled down Moritz's face as he watched. He would never live in that body again . . . those eyes would never again open to see the world as he once did. Moritz knew that he was struggling all of those times, but all he wanted was his life back again. He wanted to be a normal, living, healthy boy. Sure, his father wasn't sympathetic to Moritz all of the time, but he really did care, didn't he? Just in his own unique way. Moritz tried to hug his father.

It was no surprise when there was no apparent response. There was never going to be a response. Why try? He already gave up on life; why not give up on the afterlife?

And then there were his classmates, one by one approaching the coffin that he stood before. Each peered down at Moritz's foolish dead body and dropped a single flower in. Wendla slowly approached and carefully placed her flower in the coffin, clutching her stomach and quickly scurrying away. He watched as Ilse softly released a flower into the coffin and broke down into sorrowful tears, mourning his death. Some one cared. That's all that mattered, wasn't it? Herr stood stiff as a stone and suddenly jerked to the ground, his face red as a cherry. His body roughly shook with sobs for his dead son. Moritz turned away, facing only Melchior.

Melchior had an empty expression on his face and was pale white. He towered over the coffin, gazing at the corpse he had known as his best friend, tightly gripping his flower to his chest. Finally, he released it from his grip, his body heaving. The boy was crying, crying for Moritz, crying for his companion, his best friend, crying for his fellow pirate, his _brother. _And at that moment, Moritz could tell that Melchior would never ever forget him.

_It was all left behind, anyway._

Everything he never did, everywhere he never went, the talks he never had with his father, the weekends he had never truly spent with anyone, all of the crying, everything he had ever wished, every fear he had ever had, all of his sadness, _everything. _It was all left behind, just like him. Sure, he mattered to Melchior and Ilse, but what of the others? Would they ever remember him? Would they miss him? He was always left behind, a shadow.


	3. Heaven or Hell

**Author's Note: Yes, you have seen correctly. Chapter Three is finally here! I send my greatest apologies for keeping you waiting so long, and also for it being so short (but it's better than nothing.)It was difficult trying to figure out which approach I wanted to take for this chapter. Somehow that took me months, but hey, I can't help that I'm an extremely indecisive Libra. Also, I'd like to say ahead of time that Moritz's views do not reflect my own and were written that way due to the time period. I hope you enjoy. Don't forget to leave me your thoughts! Porcelain Owl xx**

Moritz slowly walked down the cobblestone from the mourning church to the wood, leaving behind everything and everyone he knew, the sorrow he felt. The grief of his friends was too much on him, dragging him into a deep pit of emptiness. It was nice to see that they truly did care about him, even though they didn't show it. And after really reflecting about their love, Moritz felt the pang in his chest called regret, the regret of ever committing the sinful act of suicide when there really were arms to hold him. It was astonishing- yet sad- what a loss could do to a congregation, the fact that people were late to show emotions; that they would only be expressed during extremity when it was clearly far too late.

With nothing left to do, he turned to the path that led through the dark wood to the clearing in which his blood resided, and where he had chosen to reside for a while as well. When he reached the clearing, there was nothing to be found, not even the stain of his shed blood. Remembering the wetness of the grass earlier this morning, he determined that there had been a little fall of rain and it had washed the blood away. However, when Moritz crouched down to get a closer look, he saw just the slightest red tint amongst the green blades. The boy shrugged it off and began to pace in circles. Quickly, he became ever so sleepy, eventually stumbling onto the ground and blacking out.

_It all flashed before his eyes. The boy with brown curls stood there, a look of utter hopelessness across his face, yet there was a sort of acceptance there. There was a beautiful girl in a white nightgown clenching her small stomach, a tear trickling down her face. Adults narrowed their eyes in disgrace. The same boy bent over parchment, quickly scrawling down words of great emotion and love. The girl forcefully dragged down the dark cobblestone street, yelping in pain and protest. Two boys embraced in a passionate kiss. A bloodcurdling scream of distress. The village graveyard. The boy running through the night._

Moritz's eyes opened to the black night sky, little stars twinkling above the treetops. He could hear crickets chirping. The pain in his chest quickly resumed, almost as strong as before. Something didn't feel right at all, not that much could feel right when you were deceased, but this was different. What did it mean? Why did the people seem so familiar? The boy tried to brush the dream off of his shoulders, declaring it merely just . . . a dream. There couldn't be such a thing as being able to see into the future or receive a psychic message. It just wasn't possible.

Then he heard it, the sound of two familiar male voices. They happened to sound like his fellow peers, Hanschen and Ernst. What would they be doing out here? Moritz rose and followed the sound, leading him not too far from the clearing. And sure enough, it was Hanschen and Ernst, sitting very closely together on the grass. The two boys were discussing something that Moritz couldn't quite make out or comprehend. Moritz was quite shocked when he saw the two lean in and plant a soft kiss on each other's lips, _just like the dream. _But it couldn't be possible. Moritz must have still been dreaming. Lousily, he pinched himself on the arm and nothing happened. Still, Moritz refused to accept the reality and went stomping back to the clearing. Maybe it was all a hallucination. That's right, he was awake and hallucinating. That's all it was.

And even if he wasn't hallucinating, it was merely a . . . coincidence, that's all. Moritz reflected that really, any of those things could happen coincidently. They all seemed fairly realistic, although he had never heard of two boys being sexually engaged with each other. Honestly, he didn't understand why a guy would be into a guy. He had been taught of the union of a woman and a man. At the same time, however, he did like the creativity of it all . . . they appeared to be different, like he always has felt. Moritz shook the thought away. He didn't like the idea of sexuality. It was something that had killed him and caused him to lose sleep.

Moritz resumed his position on the grass and tried to fall back to sleep just to pass the time. He wasn't sure how long he would remain this way or why he was this way in the first place. Did the Bible say anything about being a spirit . . . or ghost? Were there different standards when it came to suicide? And most of all, would he go to heaven after this? Or, had he already made the move and this is hell? Wouldn't that be hell; being limited in what you could do, with no touch and no one to hear your cries, restrictions, time that seemed like forever, a pang in your chest, being taunted by your past, and never-ending regret? What is hell and what is heaven? And where was he?


End file.
